I did not plan on writing a diary tonight. I am sick of writing. I’m sick of emailing. I’m sick of reading passionate calls to action being ignored. I’m sick of being ignored by the elite in Washington.
Answer this question for me.
HOW SICK ARE YOU?
Every time I read Rub DMC’s Iraq Grief diaries I get sick. Sick to learn that another innocent child of Middle Eastern descent has been murdered, yes, MURDERED by my country. Every time I pass the sign in my neighbor’s yard with the latest tally of American soldiers lost for a lie, I get sick. I want to throw up every last piece of my guts. Every time Ductape Fatwa makes my inbred American ass hate myself for my complacancy and my privelege, I get sick.
Every time I look at my son and envision his future I get sick. What battlefield will he be forced to die on and who’s child will he be forced to kill? I want to vomit!
Every time I envision my daughters being forced to carry pregnancy’s they can’t survive I want to get my hands around some fucking fundies neck and choke his ignorant, backwards life away for wanting to force his beliefs on my daughter’s lives. I get sick.
Everytime someone suggests I shut my mouth because I might get disappeared if I don’t, I feel rage and defiance.
Every time I hear of the death of Dr. King while we watch the bodies of our brothers and sisters left to rot in New Orleans for weeks I am sick. Sick.
This is my fucking country.
It’s history is full of murder and hypocrisy but it’s all I have to build on.
I WILL NOT LEAVE
I WILL FIGHT
MY HEART IS SICK BUT IT’S BEATING
My Grandchildren will know that I did not yeild to insanity.
What will your Grandchildren remember about you?
WHAT WILL YOU TELL YOUR GRANDCHILDREN?
Please,
It’s time.